We’re not honest enough.

A lot of it has to do with our modern society; they way we hole ourselves up or pile into shiny metal boxes, contestants in a suicidal race. (Thank you, Sting.*) We all want love, companionship, to be understood, and affiliated with something. We seek to belong — even if we can’t admit it. Sometimes, and most often, to ourselves.

I hope you’re enjoying our Podcast. I’ve noticed a theme among the episodes: the dispelling of many myths in BDSM or the alternative lifestyles in general, and we’ll continue to do that. Especially femdom. There’s a tonne of myths surrounding the practise of a female-led relationship. Female supremacy is a big one. I know it gets a lot of subby boys hard, but I can’t be down with something that’s obviously false just because it has arousing capabilities. I wouldn’t be me.

That’s actually what I’m here to share with you today. Some stuff you may not know about me. While Mister P breathes into my ear how powerful I am while my strap-on is plunged deep into him, the truth is, power is relative and circumstantial. I may carry myself with an air of self-sufficiency and the knowledge that I have just as much right to be here that anyone else does, but I worry. I get scared. I can be driven to tears — though, rarely ever in the company of someone else. I do have my pride — whatever the hell that means. There are days I want nothing more than to throw my arms around Mister P when he gets home and curl up next to him on our sofa while he surveys his stock portfolio. It can feel like one of the most peaceful places on earth to me. If I can’t get to sleep, just the steady and rhythmic beating of his heart can lull me to dreamland — arriving with warm, fuzzy thoughts. I jest that my body has come to interpret his arm across my torso as we sleep as a ‘nightmare guard’, as I’ve woken short of breath to find that he’s turned over on his side at some point during the night — which, strangely enough, doesn’t happen if I wake to find I’m still nuzzled against his forearm. I may be a dominant woman, but I’m also a human being.

I realise this isn’t something you want to hear, since it continues to shatter those myths you hold so dear. (Hey, I rhymed.)

Dommes need subs.

We do. Underneath it all is still the little girl we once were that looked upon our fathers with awe and amazement at the fact they could magically make the house work on our mother’s command. And somewhere, deep in our minds, we connected those dots to churn out our own, individualised ideal version The Perfect Man. And to a naturally dominant woman, he’s no doubt submissive. But he’s no slouch. We looked up to Dad. He could do anything! As such, you’d better believe that our man’s got to be able to do that — and then some.

You already know, there are as many flavours of domme as there are sub. Some are Goddesses and Queenes, and expect everything to be done for them, and many times, without their asking. They are to be worshipped, admired, and feared — all without lifting a finger. (Well, unless they really want to.) Everything paid for, done for them, so that they can spend their days doing anything they want?

I’m asking: who lives like that? (Okay, okay, okay. Besides my mother?) Really. Who lives like a Queene? There are subs out there who want nothing more than to be enslaved by a Goddess or Queene, but I don’t have much — if any — respect for them. You’ve also got your Mommy Dommes, Domestic Disciplinarian / Governess types, and Amazons. Okay, they’re at least keeping their own house. They might even be doing all the heavy lifting. There’s a clear element of self-sufficiency as well as being in charge here. More than anything, the sub just has to be available to do whatever she wants him to do. Take a beating? Okay. Clean the bathroom? Sure thing. Foot massage? No problem. But even that isn’t close enough to being within the realm of reality.

See, domination is hard. It’s kind of exhausting, even for how fun it is. There’s a lot of mental prep work — outside of physical setup and planning — and depending upon how many scenes you’ve done before, the more perfectionistic of us are always striving to be more creative, original, and impressive. Personally, I always want to take him to deeper subspace than I did before. That takes time and energy.

You know what else does? Life.

We both work, though on similar schedules, doing different things. I’m a psychosexual therapist and dominatrix, he’s a professional poker player. Fortunately, his schedule’s nicely aligned with mine (because I insisted it be, thank you) so we get to have sexy time pretty much immediately after he gets home. Sometimes, it involves a carefully planned scene — like ending chastity. Those can always be mind-blowing orgasms — if done right. But sometimes, life just happens, and you find days passing without any major scening, and lots of making out, but very little sex. Life for a couple with busy schedules and healthy libidos can suffer downswings. Now, if you add in that one partner doesn’t, it takes on a whole new shape.

Part of the reason I do psychosexual counseling is that I don’t. I’m one of many women who’s endured and survived abuse, but find it very difficult to enjoy sex at times as a result. BDSM is a tremendous means for healing sexual abuse — especially in childhood, when everything about your sexuality is forming. I’d love to teach women survivors how to safely explore the female dominance lifestyle as a form of therapy. (I’m hoping to get my first client for that soon. Fingers crossed.) I think every woman has an inner domme that wants to come out and play. Just as I’ve said the most put-together people are switches, since they know both sides of the spectrum, and are comfortable in both roles.

I’ll get there eventually — just not today. But tomorrow … we’ll see.

(Thank you, Sting*.)

[*Synchronicity II]
[*Tomorrow We'll See]

Tags: abusive relationships, female domination as therapy, femdom myths, healing sexual abuse, living with anxiety and depression, major depressive disorder, sexual abuse